Intervention
by elle4
Summary: Sam and Castiel hatch a plan to give Dean an intervention. (Language, Alcohol consumption, Bromancing)
1. Chapter 1

Dean was in front of Sam and Castiel. He held his gun in his left hand, supporting it with his right. Sam trailed close behind. He was more relaxed in his stance, opting for a serrated knife. Castiel, as usual, went in with his concealed angel blade, and was holding on to the EMF. Dean pushed his way down the hall of the apartment building. It was Sam's conclusion that there was something worth investigating here. Dean complied.

Sam stopped at the front door of an apartment. The number on the door read, 304. Castiel had halted as well. The EMF reader was alarming the men of an impending entity behind the walls. Sam tilted his head towards the door. Dean nodded in agreement. The door was ajar. There was no need for it to be picked or kicked down. Sam nudged it open into a dark living quarters. He led the way with his brother and the angel right behind.

Rather quickly, Sam pocketed his knife, and flicked on the light switch. He turned on his brother. Castiel hurriedly locked the door behind them. "Dean," Sam said sternly, "sit." He gestured towards the metal chairs that sat in the living room. They were set up in a circle, and were the only objects in the bare apartment.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, lowering his pistol. He realized that there was something going on other than a spirit inhabiting the place. Dean looked behind his shoulder at Castiel. The angel nudged the hunter towards the living room. Dean was pushed down by Castiel onto one of the chairs. Sam hovered over his brother.

"This is an intervention, Dean," Sam said sternly.

"For what?" Dean asked. He stared up at his little brother. This was beginning to feel like a trap.

"You're an alcoholic," Sam replied.

"What?" Dean was still confused. He didn't need an intervention. He wasn't an alcoholic. There was no way that his brother and his best friend had the gall to accuse him of having a drinking problem. He didn't have one. After dealing with all the shit that they have dealt with over the years, why was it so wrong to toss back a few?

"You do have a drinking problem, Dean," Castiel said.

Dean looked at his friend with questioning eyes. "You too? Seriously?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. "We believe that you're drinking to excess, and it's effecting those around you."

Dean sat back in the metal chair, and crossed his arms against his chest. "And who is this, 'we'?"

"Me, Cas, Charlie, Crowley…" Sam started to list.

Castiel added, "And Kevin, his mother…"

Dean was still sitting there, defensively. "So, everyone who knows me, that's still sort of alive."  
"Pretty much," Sam said.

"And you decided that tricking me, trapping me, and getting our feelings out like a fucking chick flick would help?"

"We hope," Castiel said.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke up rather early. Sleep was eluding him last night, and he figured he wouldn't be able to get any more rest. It was typical for someone with his life choice to get only a few hours of shut eye a night. If it wasn't the nightmares, it was the feeling of having to watch your back that kept Sam from a decent night's sleep. His hunter mentality was still sharply focused, even in the safety of the bunker.

In the kitchen Sam found Castiel. There was coffee made, and Sam greatly filled up his cup. Castiel tried to ask his friend a question. He faltered, holding in his thoughts, as he watched Sam head towards the library. Castiel warmed up his coffee. He wasn't sure why he enjoyed the drink so much. Perhaps it was comforting to partake in the morning routine of his best friends.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?" Castiel asked, sitting down opposite Sam, once he reached the library.

"You don't need to explain, Cas," Sam said. He had his laptop open. Castiel presumed that he was researching some case.

"So, you know why I am here?"

Sam looked over the top of his computer screen. "Dean's in the other room," Sam started to say, but chose to leave it at that. "Never mind."

"No," Castiel said. "I'm here about a possible lead."

Sam closed his laptop. "I'm listening."

"There have been quite a number of odd weather conditions throughout the country," Castiel said.

"Global warming," Sam answered rather quickly.

"What is that?"

"The news and weather reports explain the rapid change in weather is due to global warming. I don't know the science to it," Sam said.

"But it isn't this global warming," Castiel said. "It's omens."

"We know that, but the rest of the public needs an explanation that makes sense to them. So, chock it up to the earth acting strange."

"Are you and Dean going to head out and investigate any of these possible omens?"

"We'll probably have to, unless we hear of any other hunters taking any of them on." Sam opened his laptop. He hit a few keys on the keyboard, searching for any interesting stories happening across the country. They sat in silence for a few moments. Castiel sipped his coffee.

After a few minutes into his research, Sam's phone began to ring. A strange number was displayed, though he easily recognized the area code. It was a call from within the county. He very rarely gave out this number. Sam was about to ignore the call, and let it go to voicemail, when something in the back of his mind told him to answer.

"Sam Winchester."

"Sam," a man's groggy voice said on the other line.

"Dean?"

"I need you to pick me up," Dean said.

"Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Drunk tank, apparently," Dean said. He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded forced.

Sam sat back in his chair, shutting his eyes in disgust. "I'll be there soon."

* * *

The police station wasn't far from the bunker. It only took Sam about fifteen minutes on the highway to reach the building. He had figured out the shortest route the last time that Dean had landed himself in a cell. Sam shook his head as he thought back to two weeks ago. Dean had called Sam, much like he did this morning, after a night of drinking went south. After watching the girls at the strip club, knocking back a few beers and a shot or three, Dean moved on to the first bar he found. It ended up being a biker bar. At some point Dean found himself in a fight with one of the bikers that was in the local gang. They both were arrested. Sam had to bail Dean's ass out of jail. He was hoping that Dean hadn't fallen in the same vein.

Once at the police station, Sam talked to one of the deputies. He explained that they got a call from a bar in town. The waitresses were complaining of a rather drunk man causing trouble. He had been cut off around one in the morning. He still continued to stick around to hit on the waitresses and attempted to pick fights with male customers. The cops had arrested him around last call, at about two in the morning. He had passed out rather quickly once he was tossed into the cell with the other misdemeanors.

"You better shape him up, son," the deputy said to Sam. "We can't keep arresting him. It isn't doing him any good."

"I know," Sam said, sighing. "I just don't know how to go about this."

"We have some brochures, if you'd like to take some home and look them over," the deputy said.

"That'd help, thanks," Sam said. Sam folded up the brochures that the deputy gave him and hid them in his jacket pocket. He didn't want Dean to find out that he was concerned for his brother's safety. Or that he was more concerned for Dean's mental health.

Sam had driven his car, a Mustang that he had gotten on the cheap. Dean wasn't too fond of it. It still needed a lot of work, Dean thought. The car wasn't up to long road trips like his Impala, but was just fine for driving into town. It needed a paint job. Dean hated the red. "Where's my baby?" Dean asked as soon as he saw the Mustang.

"He's back at the bunker," Sam said under his breath.

"No, my car, my baby," Dean said.

"It's in the impound lot. We can pick it up when you're a bit more sober."

Dean let out a huff as he sat in the passenger's seat. "I can drive."

"The Impala isn't going anywhere. We'll get her later tonight, I promise."

"Fine," Dean said. He crossed his arms against himself, and closed his eyes. It didn't take long for Dean to start to lightly snore.

Back at the bunker, Sam and Castiel got Dean into his room. Castiel helped Dean to change out of his alcohol reeking clothes, and into something clean. This particular hangover was, in Dean's words, a bitch. The pounding behind his eyes seemed to be growing. He knew it would take a full day to recover. He wasn't as spry as he used to be. Dean downed a glass of water before falling right to sleep.

Sam had Castiel follow him back to the library. There, Sam showed his friend the brochures that the deputy had given him.

"Alcoholics anonymous?" Castiel asked.

"It's a twelve step program for drunks," Sam said. "Dean needs help, but I don't think he'd get it himself. I was hoping that we could try and give him the push that he needs."

"How do we go about this," Castiel asked.

"Well," Sam opened one of the brochures that discussed how to best conduct an intervention, "we'll have to give this a try." He handed the booklet over to Castiel.

"Interventions: How to successfully handle them, and other information," Castiel read out loud. He opened the brochure to a list of helpful hints and techniques for garnering control over people who have an addiction. "This sounds easy enough."

"It's doubtful," Sam said. "When I was addicted to demon blood, Dean and Bobby just shoved me into the panic room and hoped for the best. Without being able to lock up Dean, I don't see an easy way around this. We're going to have to confront him, and try to get him to see that he needs some sort of rehab, or something."

"So, we can't just lock him up," Castiel said. "He's going to hate sharing his feelings."

"Yeah, I know. Chick flick shit," Sam said. "But we have to try something."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn't want to confront his brother just yet. He thought Dean was drinking because they hadn't had an interesting case in quite a while. It reminded him of Sherlock Holmes. No work creates a bored Dean. And a bored Dean meant getting drunk and acting like a jerk.

Sam and Castiel were sitting with Dean at one of the research tables in the library of the bunker. Dean had Sam's laptop open in front of him. A news article was displayed. It told of random deaths that the local police officials deemed to be done by a serial killer. The similar deaths were in two different cities and in two different states. It seemed to be something to look into. "You think that demons are behind this?" Dean asked.

"Would only make sense," Castiel said.

"There have been a few recent deaths that have been unsolved in the Chicago and Metro Detroit areas," Sam said. He turned the laptop around. He scrolled through some of the articles he had pulled up for their conference. "They don't say much, but the journalists and the cops seem to agree on one thing. The victims all died in relatively the same way." Sam opened up one last window, adding, "They were found in their homes, old knife wounds in their guts, with barely any rigor mortise. The coroners came to the conclusion that the wounds weren't the cause of death, but are baffled about how they died."

"Demons it is," Dean said. He got up from his seat. Dean lifted off the topper of the whiskey decanter, and poured himself a glass.

"Shouldn't you ease up on the alcohol tonight? We are leaving early tomorrow morning," Sam said.

"Nah," Dean said. He swallowed a gulp of his whiskey. "I'll be fine, Sammy."

"Whatever, Dean," Sam mumbled to himself. He gathered up his laptop. "Just get up and be ready to leave by six. I'll be in my room."

Dean took another sip. "What's his problem?"

Castiel stood up to face Dean. He gave him his patented squinty eyed, head tilt. "I think you should just watch how much you drink tonight, Dean," Castiel finally spoke.

Dean looked questioningly at Castiel. "I've only had a few beers so far."

"Just don't drink too much whiskey, please," Castiel said.

"Um, okay, Cas," Dean said. He downed the last of his liquor, and set the empty glass on the table. "I'll stop drinking for the night."

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel smiled. He didn't know what came over him, but he gave Dean a hug. Dean was unsure of what was happening. He gave in and wrapped his arms around the angel.

"You tell Sam that we hugged, and I'll kill you." Dean didn't want to admit that he enjoyed the embrace of his best friend.

* * *

The three men were on the road by seven in the morning. Dean had to be prodded awake. Sam was close to tossing Dean off the bed by lifting up the mattress. Sadly, to Sam's misfortune, Castiel was able to awaken the sleeping man. Castiel knelt down to look at Dean's figure. He looked calm, in peace, and Castiel didn't want to end his serenity. All the angel had to do was touch Dean's shoulder and say his name. It seemed to be all too easy.

"Cas," Dean said. His eyes slowly opened as his mouth parted into a small smile. "What time is it?"

"You're breath," Castiel said in disgust, "You reek of whiskey."

"No, I don't," Dean said, sitting up in his bed quickly. He cupped his hand in front of his face, breathed, and cringed. "Fuck," Dean said as he ran to the bathroom. He passed Sam in the hall.

"Well, that seemed to light a fire under his ass," Sam said upon seeing Castiel sitting on Dean's bed. "What'd you say to him?"

"He promised me last night that he wasn't going to drink any more whiskey." Castiel was disappointed in his best friend. There was hope behind the hug that he shared with Dean. He hoped that Dean would understand that he cared about him, and that the affection would get Dean to think twice about having another glass. It was all dashed away rather quickly.

"You can't trust an alcoholic, or an addict for that matter, Cas," Sam said.

Castiel looked up towards the younger Winchester. His eyes seemed to be pleading. "I just hope that this works. I can't see Dean hiding his drinking. He seemed thoroughly angry that I found him out."

"It will work," Sam said, reassuring Castiel. "If it doesn't, I have a place in mind where we can leave him until he sobers himself up."

"Good," Castiel said, clapping his knees with his hands, before standing up. "I think I hear Dean in the shower."

"What tipped you off? The water or his rendition of Piano Man?" Sam jokingly asked.

"Both," Castiel said. "So, are we going through with this when we arrive in Michigan?"

"Yup," Sam replied. "It's all set. I made all the calls. We should be good to go. I have the address and everything. Just need to get Dean to cooperate."

"This better work."


End file.
